All I Want for Christmas
by Jiirosensei
Summary: This is a House, Wilson romance. Secret Santas, singing wall fish, all around fun.
1. Chapter 1

"Meeting," Cuddy addressed the man as he swiftly walked away from her in the opposite direction.

"Ooh, sorry. Important _'doctor business'_ to attend to," he ducked his head, pretending to busy himself with the empty folder in his hands.

"House, you don't read charts," the woman called his bluff. "Meeting, now."

And that was how he found himself seated at the long table in the meeting room.

Dr. Gregory House glanced boredly around the table assessing those present. Cuddy- his boss; Chase, Cameron and Foreman -his team; and then Wilson. He smiled. Good old Wilson.

"Hey, Jimmy," he gave his best salesman's smile "Take notes for me, alright? I have some things to do."

"Sorry House." Wilson returned, choosing to ignore the nickname. He had decided long ago that it was best to pick your battles with House. "You have to be here for this one; t'is the season," he remarked.

The unkempt doctor's face fell. "_Oh_," He replied in a dull voice, "_That_ meeting."

"As you know," Cuddy smiled at the assembled group. "There's only a month left until the Christmas party. Most of the planning and preparations have already been finished, which leaves only one matter to attend to." So saying, she withdrew a ratty looking stocking from under the table and proceeded to hand out scraps of paper to all the of the assembled. "Now remember, just your name. It's up to your Secret Santa to figure out what you want for Christmas."

Cameron raised her hand.

Ah, Cameron. House mused a little cynically, the ever-proper school girl. When was she going to get it through her head that nobody really believed she was that bland, catholic-school oatmeal innocent?

Cuddy nodded to her. "I think Dr. House should have to write what he wants on his," she announced.

House looked up, a bit surprised.

"He's impossible to shop for, and getting the wrong thing could result in weeks of humiliation. It isn't worth the stress."

"I second that." Foreman agreed.

"Aww, come on," House protested. "I _like_ the singing wall fish. You can't still be upset about _that!_"

Cuddy raised an eyebrow, seeming to take the arguments into serious consideration. "Alright," she decided. "Let's put it to a vote then. Raise your hand if you think House should have to write what he wants along with his name."

Five hands shot up instantly. House shot Wilson a glare.

"I _hate_ the fish." Wilson replied seriously, and House had to grin. He'd recently discovered a new form of entertainment in relocating the fish around his apartment so that whenever Wilson came to visit, he could watch the man jump every time the fish assailed him with "Moon River" from an unexpected new location.

"Fine," House grumped, scribbling his name on his strip of paper. "Ah Christmas; the season of peace, love and democracy." He thought a few seconds, trying to come up with either the most abstract or offensive gift he could think of. Finally, he grinned to himself, printing _hottie with a body_ neatly at the bottom of his paper before folding it in half and stuffing it into the stocking.

House waited as patiently as could be expected for House as his turn came to draw a name out of the stocking. He peered down at the paper and grinned. James Wilson. That was easy. Wilson would be a snap to shop for. He glanced over at the man who was carefully studying his own piece of paper. Yah, Wilson would want a… a… he'd want… crap.

_**-scene-**_

Though he'd thought and thought, this was one diagnosis the usually apt doctor could not fathom. What the heck _would_ Wilson want for Christmas? He glanced up to the man who was distractedly mouthing the end of a pen as he went over some old reports, trying o figure out where best to file them. _Lucky Pen_. House thought.

"Hey," he called. "Hey Jimmy,"

The man's head shot up with an annoyed glare. "House, I've told you before, I don't like it when you call me-"

"Yah yah," House waved him off. "So… who'd you get?"

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "We're not supposed to tell, remember?"

"Aww, come on…" House whined.

The oncologist rolled his eyes. "Cuddy." He told him.

House grimaced. "Lucky you."

"Well?"

The older man cocked his head to the side. "Well what?"

Wilson sighed exasperatedly. "Aren't you gonna tell me who you got?"

House clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Why Dr. Wilson! I'm ashamed of you. We're not supposed to tell, you know." He grinned at the man's obvious annoyance. "Chase." He told him.

"Ah," Wilson replied, seemingly losing interest.

"So what would one get for a young doctor these days?" House wondered aloud.

Wilson shrugged. "Buy him a tie."

"Har har." House returned. "Well what would _you_ want?" He smiled, giving himself a mental pat on the back for his own sneakiness.

Wilson shrugged, turning back to his paperwork. "I don't want anything."

"Bull." House accused. "Everybody wants something. The only reason anyone buys gifts for anyone else is so that next year they'll feel guilty and buy something for us."

Wilson stared at him. "Your lack of philanthropy staggers even me."

"A new pocket protector?" House suggested with a grin. "Or maybe a toaster oven at work so that when the little wife kicks you out again-"

"House," Wilson's voice was sharp. "I don't want to talk about that."

The older man was silent for a moment. Something was up and Wilson wasn't talking about it, and he could have kicked himself for not noticing sooner. "Wilson…"

"It doesn't matter anyway…" he seemed to be talking to himself. "All I want… is someone who will love me for who I am, not for who they think they can make me into."

House paused. "Couldn't we just get you a puppy instead?"

Wilson snorted. "Don't feel bad. Even God hasn't been able to fill that one."

"That's pretty deep…" the older doctor noted, "Assuming you believe in God."

"Oh, and you don't?" Wilson quirked an eyebrow.

House thought a moment. "Well _someone's_ been thwarting my evil plans, so I guess there's got to be some kind og God."

"Yah… but I guess he just doesn't listen to anyone's prayers anymore." The man sighed despondently.

House raised an eyebrow. "You…?"

"She filed for divorce." Wilson admitted, then pursed his lips, turning back to his paperwork.

House stared for a long minute. Maybe God _did_ still answer prayers. "Even though it's a real cramp to my style," he began, a little over-loud to cover up any actual emotion that might leak through. "I've got a pretty big apartment still, and the fridge _has_ been pretty empty since you moved out…"

"I'll get my stuff." Wilson replied, ignoring the sarcastic jabs. He stood, then turned slowly, meeting House's eyes with his own. They were blue and dazzling and full of so much pain that it nearly toppled the other man. "Thanks, House." He told him softly, turning away quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

_**-scene-**_

It was, admittedly, quite a thrill to have won Wilson back, at least for however long he'd be staying. House limped gingerly to the door, unlocking it and ushering the man inside and out of the cold.

Wilson hesitated at the entryway, poking his head in, waiting to be assailed by the animatronic ghost of Christmas past.

"Relax." House told him, giving him a nudge. "The batteries died. Looks like the fish is out of commission until I find some more of the right size."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "You won't replace the batteries in your smoke alarm, but you'll go out of your way for that stupid fish?"

House grinned. "Just thinking about how much you love it makes me go that extra mile."

Wilson would have said more, but at that moment, he noticed something really peculiar about the sofa… like the fact that it wasn't there. "House…" he began in a tentative voice, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer. "What happened to the couch?"

"Oh, nothing serious." The man replied, tossing his coat over the back of an armchair and heading for the kitchen. "It caught fire."

This gave the oncologist pause, for as far as he had been lead to believe, sofas did not spontaneously combust that often. "It caught fire?"

House turned around to face him, seeming a bit distracted. "Yah." He replied.

"And _how_ did it catch fire?" Wilson wanted to know.

House hesitated. "A match fell on it."

"…A match?"  
"Do you notice that habit of yours?" House pointed out. "You know, the one where you repeat everything I say with a rising voice inflection?"

Wilson chose to ignore him. "Why did you drop a match on the sofa?"

"Who says _I_ dropped it?" a pause- a raised eyebrow- House turned back towards the kitchen. "Okay. I dropped a match on it." He pulled open the refrigerator door. "I was angry."

"You were drunk."

He rummaged for a can of beer in the fridge. "You say potato, I say potahtoe" he returned.

"What were you angry about?" the younger doctor pressed.

"Did you want anything?" House asked, ignoring the question.

"An answer." Wilson replied.

House sighed, returning to the living room, popping the tab to his beer.

"You really shouldn't drink with Vicodin." Wilson reminded.

"Yah, I know," House agreed. "But all the cool kids are doing it." He took a swig.

"Why were you angry?"

House sighed. Why not? It would be fun to watch the man squirm. "You left." He said flatly, then turned away, plunking himself down at the piano bench.

Wilson stared. That hadn't at all been the answer he'd expected. "Be- because I left?"

"See? There you go again with that repetition thing." He set the can of beer on the top of the piano, spreading his fingers out on the keys.

"But that doesn't make any sense…" Wilson continued to himself, feeling a slight blush rise in his cheeks, but as House began to play, he realized he wasn't going to get the man to say more on the matter, so he chose a different line of questioning instead. "Where am I going to sleep?"

The older man's fingers stopped. He spun around on the piano bench. "It's always worry, worry, worry with you, isn't it?" he accused. "It's a big bed." He replied. "And I don't snore."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me to sleep with you?"

"If by _with_ you mean beside, then yes, or there's also this lovely section of hardwood floor where a couch used to be." He offered with a sweeping hand gesture.

The oncologist exhaled. This was going to be an interesting arrangement.

_**-scene-**_

"I get the outside."

"And why's that?" Wilson wanted to know.

House raised an eyebrow before tapping his cane on the ground for emphasis. "I can't crawl over you if I have to get up for anything in the night."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "What would you have to get up for."

House grinned. That wasn't a good sign. That meant he'd just been given an opening. "Big boys get up to go to the potty at night." He replied, giving the oncologist a pointed look.

"It was one time!" the man exclaimed, his cheeks reddening under the furious blush.

House chuckled, easing himself onto the edge of the bed and tugging the sock off his right foot with the toe of the other. "Well?" he asked.

"What?" Wilson returned.

"Are you going to get in bed so I can turn the light off, or did you want a bedtime story first?"

House watched as Wilson hesitated, obviously ignoring his jab. "Oh… er… yah." The man paused a moment before divesting himself of everything but his boxers and an undershirt. He'd meant to have a shower, but they'd gotten out late, and House had yet to wash the towels. The younger man climbed over to his side of the bed, finally lying down, but not quite relaxing, House observed.

The older man studied him for a moment before shutting off the light and swinging his legs into bed, grunting with the effort.

"Does it hurt?" Wilson wanted to know, and his voice, House thought, seemed a little anxious. "A lot… I mean…" Wilson amended in an embarrassed voice. Of course it hurt, that's why it was called a chronic pain disorder.

"No more than usual." House replied. "Why? Think you can kiss it better?"

"Shut-up!" Wilson replied, rolling over quickly, and House wondered if he might be blushing.

He sighed. Probably wishful thinking, he decided, and shut his eyes.

_**-scene-**_

Wilson watched boredly as House spread a thick layer of butter over his toast, and then in horror as a thick layer of cream cheese followed. He lunged forward, grabbing the knife from House's hands. "Are you trying to _kill _yourself?!" he exclaimed.

House quirked an eyebrow at him. "I take it you're not gong to let me fry it now?"

Wilson stared at him in shock. "Do you _always_ eat like this?"

"What? Of course not!" House replied in an offended tone. "I usually use bagels."

"That is the _worst_ breakfast I have ever seen!" the oncologist practically shouted. "Consider the cholesterol intake alone! And then there're the transgenic fats and the carcinogens to worry about-!"

House rolled his eyes, dropping the toast back onto the plate with a sigh. "_Fine_, if you're going to be a _doctor_ about it. Then what do _you_ suggest I eat for breakfast?"

Wilson pushed past him, rifling through the cabinets. "Don't you have any oatmeal or bran or something?"

"That's old people food." House shot.

Wilson gave him a look.

"I am _not_ old." House defended.

"Yah, and going through a midlife crisis doesn't make you a teenager again either. You need something for energy and health."

"I can think of a certain activity with just that pedigree." House replied with a lecherous grin.

"Yah, but I don't think prostitutes do breakfast." Wilson replied.

House assessed the younger man's bottom as he bent to check the lower cabinets. "I wasn't thinking that at all." He defended.

"No?" Wilson raised an eyebrow, giving him a wry grin.

"No indeed." The older man replied seriously.

Wilson paused, seeming to lose his caregiver's edge all of a sudden. He turned his back on the older man, flustered. "You… really don't have anything edible. We should just catch something on the way in." he decided.

_**-scene-**_

"Boy, you're crankier than usual." Chase accused as House pushed the younger man's feet from their positon atop the table.

"Wilson condemned me to eat _oatmeal _for breakfast." House cringed in reply, strolling to the white board.

"And you let him?" Foreman asked in a disbelieving voice.

House grinned; never a good sign. "Lose the battle, win the war." He replied.

The three exchanged confused glances as the marker squeaked across the white board.

"Okay, differential diagnosis?"

The three glanced up to the list of symptoms scrawled across the board: _bad taste in clothing, worse taste in women, values sentimental crap, favors classical jazz music, healthy living, strong work ethic…_ The list went on in a similarly insulting manner.

"Brain tumor?" Chase raised an eyebrow hopefully as he grimaced at the list of distasteful symptoms.

"No," House rolled his eyes. "I got Wilson."

"What?" Chase asked, confused.

"You're not supposed to tell your secret Santa!" Cameron protested, almost scandalized.

"Oh…" Chase flushed a little, having initially missed the point.

"Yah, yah," House waved her off. "I'm a terrible person, we've established that. Now what should I get Wilson for Christmas?"

"You could get him a jazz CD," Chase suggested.

"No!" House shot him down. "I'm trying to break that habit!"

"Okay," Chase folded his arms, insulted. "Get 'im a tie then."

"Ties have no sentimental meaning!" Cameron defended.

"Well it's not like House is trying to get a _date_ out of it." Foreman pointed out.

House narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment. "Yah. Sure." He replied. "But if I _was_ how would that be different?"

The three stared.

"For curiousity's sake!" the older doctor defended in an exasperated tone.

"Well…" Cameron began a bit hesitantly, yet a little shook up by the mere thought. "When you're buying something just for a friend, what the gift is specifically doesn't matter so much, just that it's something you think they'd like, but when it's someone you love, you have to get them something they really want; the thing they want most of all, because it shows you've been listening."

He paused a minute. "The thing they want most of all…" he nodded. "Okay." Then began wiping the white board. "Gold Stars all round." With that, he exited the room, leaving the three in a general fugue of confusion.

"That was… odd…" Chase decided.

"So what are you getting for House to show you've been listening?" Foreman teased.

Cameron flushed. "Who says I even got his name?"

Chase grinned. "It's cute that you're pretending that matters."

"So… so what if I get him something?" Cameron stood, flustered. "I get everyone something, you know that!" She scrounged her papers together quickly, making a hastey exit.

The two stared after her for a moment.

"Fifty bucks says she's got House." Foreman decided.

"You're on!"


	3. Chapter 3

_**-scene-**_

"I was thinking Chinese." House decided. "But I'm not paying the tip."

Wilson slipped his shoes on. "Actually… I'm just gonna catch something while I'm out. Here," he pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, giving them to House. "That should be enough for the delivery."

House stared at him incredulously. "Where do _you_ have to go?"

Wilson hesitated, obviously a little uncomfortable with the question. "To the gym, if you must know."

House raised an eyebrow. "The gym? It's _winter_. Oncology pool party at the Holiday Inn this year? Afraid you might not fit into your bikini?"

"I just like to stay in shape," the younger man rolled his eyes. "Anyway, my membership ends in January, so I might as well get my money out of it."

"Ah, guilt," House decided. "A great holiday motivator."

"Something like that." Wilson slung his bag over his shoulders. "I'll uh… I'll probably be back late."

"You have a key." House reminded.

"Yeah." Wilson replied. "Okay. Just thought I'd… yeah." He hastily exited the apartment, leaving House to his thoughts.

House didn't like to doubt Wilson, but that was his mantra, after all; everybody lies. Even Wilson wasn't excluded from that category; especially Wilson. But then again, Christmas was the one time of year when lying to your loved ones didn't always come with a devious intent. He sighed; disappointed as he was to lose his dinner companion, House realized that his possessiveness had been the cause of their rift the _last_ time Wilson had lived with him; well, that and eating Wilson's food, but hey, the man insisted on making him eat healthier now; a feat he certainly wasn't going to accomplish on his own, so that was on Wilson's head now.

_**-scene-**_

It was late when Wilson finally returned. House lifted his head from the top of the piano where he'd been dozing on and off for the past hour or so. He listened as the key turned in the lock, waiting patiently.

The door swung open, admitting a very cold, very tired looking Wilson. The man stooped to untie his shoes, letting the gym bag fall to the floor and almost keeled over on the spot as he was assailed with "_I will walk alone by the black muddy river And sing me a song of my own!_" from the mouth of the reviled rubber fish.

"Surprise!" House called gleefully. "I found batteries!"

"Dammit House!" Wilson panted, grabbing at his chest in momentary panic. He finally got a hold of himself enough to close the door and pop the batteries out of the fish, throwing them at House.

The older man ducked, laughing. "Hey! No picking on the cripple!"

Wilson paused a moment, taking stock of the room. "What are you still doing up?" he asked, baffled.

House glanced to the fish.

Wilson followed his gaze. "Oh God… don't tell me you waited up this late, just for _that?_"

House only shrugged in his own defense.

"That's really… sad." Wilson told him, shaking his head and toeing off his sneakers. He flopped down unceremoniously in House's lone armchair. "God, I'm beat." He sighed, closing his eyes.

"Clean towels in the bathroom." House told him in an offhand tone.

This seemed to surprise the man almost as much as the fish. "You… washed towels for me?"

"No," House replied. "It's for me. Your smell is an affront to my delicate nature."

Wilson grinned. "Thanks." He told him. "You should go to bed. I'll be in in a bit."

"Don't want me to join you?" House teased.

Wilson flushed. At least, House thought he did. The light wasn't that good, and he _had_ just had the daylights scared out of him, but maybe…

"Ha ha." The man told him in a completely humorless tone as he forced himself to stand, trudging to the bathroom.

_**-scene-**_

It wasn't a sound… It wasn't a feeling… He wasn't too hot or cold, but _something _had woken the doctor up. He cracked his eyes open blearily, peeking at the alarm clock as if it might hold the answers. 6:30 and not set to go off for another half hour; no signs there. He sniffed. That was it. It was a smell. House opened his eyes fully this time, sitting up in bed. Wilson was no longer beside him, but the place he'd occupied was relatively warm. His T-shirt and boxers had been folded carefully and laid out on the chest at the foot while his pillow had been propped carefully at the head.

House swung his legs out of the bed, kicking the covers off unceremoniously and grabbing his cane. He limped into the kitchen, hating the way his leg felt so dead and stiff fist thing. The hard wood floor was a bit cold in comparison to the jersey sheets and down comforter he'd just unearthed himself from, but he ignored it, padding into the kitchen.

"Oh," Wilson started upon seeing him, then turned to the clock. "It's only six-thirty," he furrowed his brow, confused. "What are you doing up?"

House blinked at him. "I think the more important question is what are _you_ doing up?"

Wilson stared at him for a moment, something sizzling promisingly on the stove top. "I'm cooking." He replied in a tone that said_ well obviously_.

"You're cooking?" House inquired, not sure he was fully awake yet as he flopped down unceremoniously in the kitchen-facing armchair.

"Oh, are we doing that thing where you repeat everything I say with a rising voice inflection?" Wilson teased, taking a freshly washed plate down from the cabinets and dishing some of the mysterious food onto it. "Yes. I'm cooking." He replied, then set the plate on the end table next to House with a big bowl of oatmeal.

House glared at the oatmeal, but was cut off as Wilson set his own bowl of oatmeal beside it. "I'm having it to." He told him. "It's not _old-people_ food. It's good for you."

House was about to protest anyway, but that was when he noticed the other plate. "Wait a minute," he interrupted incredulously. "Is this… _bacon?_" He said the word in a tone that most would reserve upon receiving an invitation to the apocalypse. He picked it up, examining it distrustfully. "It _looks_ like bacon," he accused. "Feels like bacon, even _smells_ like bacon… but that's impossible! You're Mr. Good Cholesterol, there's no _way_ you're giving me bacon."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Eat it."

House hesitated but took a bite. "My God! It even _tastes_ like bacon! Jimmy, are you feeling alright?!"

"It's turkey bacon." The man replied nonchalantly as he turned off the stove, quickly rinsing the dishes before taking a seat on the floor next to the armchair.

"Blasphemy!" the older doctor spat, tossing the strip of meat back onto his plate. "I don't eat birds that masquerade as mammals!"

Wilson sighed. "It looks like bacon, it smells like bacon, it tastes like bacon, it _is_ bacon, just eat it. It's good for you and you like it, so what's the big deal?"

House studied him a moment. "You know, that's the same kind of marking genius that had kids in the ER from eating too many doggy treats a few years back…" he pointed out, then paused. "Why are you sitting on the floor?"

"You burnt the sofa." Wilson reminded. "It's the floor or your lap."

House moved his plate aside, patting his knee. "Come on up, tell Santa what you want for Christmas."

Wilson blushed, this time for sure! "Shut-up." He mumbled, turning back to his plate. "Eat your turkey."

"I thought it was bacon?" House challenged.

_**-scene-**_

House practically danced a jig; well, it was more of a cancan with the cane and all; relatively inappropriate, considering that the patient was a seventeen year old male with congestive heart failure and no logical reason why.

"A case!" he sing-songed, "Come on, you guys, a case!"

The team stared at him incredulously. He reached over and yanked one of Chase's golden hairs out.

"Ow!" the man exclaimed, jumping up and clapping his hands over his head.

"Oh good, a reaction." House replied.

"Sorry we're not jumping for joy!" Chase growled sarcastically, "We should be happy the kid's dying!"

"Oh, he's not _dying_." House poo-pooed. "You're just mad that I pulled your hair. You know in some cultures, hair pulling is a sign of respect."

"Yah, kindergarten!" the man retorted.

"What do you know, a natural blonde…" House replied, examining the strand. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded. "Get me bloodwork, get me tests!"

The trio hesitated. "Which tests?" Foreman finally asked.

House gave them an excited look. "Oh, it's been so long, let's get all of them!" Before they could challenge him with their inane questions, he began to scrawl symptoms across his whiteboard.

"But-" Cameron began to protest.

"No." he hushed her, tossing a marker at her. "Get out. We're about to have an intimate moment." He ran his fingers lovingly along the ledge of the whiteboard.

"That's… wrong." Foreman shook his head.

"You're just jealous." House accused. "It takes a very special touch to please a real lady."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "Well _she_ didn't seem to mind when Chase wrote on her yesterday."

Chase froze like a deer in the headlights as House shot him a scandalized look before turning back to the board. "Whore." He called it disgustedly.


	4. Chapter 4

_**-scene-**_

House bounced the ball listlessly against the wall. It _actually_ was drugs. He was, admittedly, a little depressed. Their first case in such a long time, and it was cocaine. They'd only actually _had_ the case for three days.

"Come on, there'll be other cases. I'll make you dinner."

House glanced up to see Wilson waiting at the door. "Not going to the _gym?"_ he shot bitterly.

The oncologist rubbed at the back of his hair awkwardly. "I was planning on going tomorrow morning."

The older doctor hesitated. "It's not going to be _turkey_ steak or some other god-awful thing, is it?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "If it was, you wouldn't even be able to tell the difference."

"It's the principle of the thing." House argued, getting to his feet and snagging his jacket off of the hook by the door.

"Right," Wilson nodded. "And you are a man of principle."

"I have principles," House defended. "I just make them up as I go."

Once in the parking lot, House revved the engine of his bike. "Race you!" he challenged.

"It's been snowing." Wilson replied, raising an eyebrow.

"You're just afraid to lose." House replied with a grin.

Wilson shook his head. "Yes." He replied in a deadpan. "I am."

_**-scene-**_

"I want a case." House whined at Wilson as the other man prepared for bed.

"Be good and maybe Santa will get you one for Christmas." Wilson replied from the bathroom.

"Ha!" House returned, wincing a little, realizing retrospectively with the twinge in his leg that he probably shouldn't have taken their race so seriously. "More like Cuddy." He paused. "Speaking of which, what did you get her?"

Wilson returned, slipping the tank top over his head and House had to raise an eyebrow appreciatively at the glimpse of developing six pack he noticed. "What?" he asked, sounding distracted. "Why would I get something for Cuddy?"  
House merely grinned.

The silence was allowed to continue for only a second as realization finally dawned on the young oncologist.

"I- Oh, the secret… Santa…" he trailed off, his eyes searching left and right for an excuse.

"I knew it." House grinned, propping himself up on his elbows. "You lied."

"I- I did not." Wilson protested, turning away.

"There's only one reason you would lie about that," he continued. "You don't want me to know who you got. And why _is_ that, I wonder? Well, it could either mean that you-"

"Stop it, House! Okay?"

The man's sudden defensiveness threw House off and for a moment, he could only blink.

"Look, it's Christmas, alright? Can't you just accept, for _one_ more week that not everything has an ulterior motive?"

"Sure." House replied after a minute, his devious wheels already turning. "Are you going to get in bed or did you intend to sleep on the sofa, _oh_ wait," He grinned.

"Shut up," the younger man replied, shaking his head and hiding a smile as he reached for the light switch before crawling over the other man and into bed.

House sighed as he felt Wilson shifting beside him, trying to find the most comfortable position to sleep in. After a moment, there was silence again, except for the barely audible ticking of House's wristwatch, buried somewhere on the floor beneath his discarded clothes. He concentrated on this ticking to take his mind off of other things, namely, the throbbing pain in his right leg.

Tick

Tick

Tick

One throb every four ticks, he counted out. Just as he thought about reaching over for a nightcap of vicodin, Wilson stirred beside him.

"You're leg hurts." The younger man pointed out.

"Oh my gosh, are you a doctor?" House replied sarcastically, but without venom.

"I _mean_, more than usual." Wilson replied, ignoring the jab yet again. "You haven't moved it since I got in bed."

House listened as the man shifted onto his knees. "It happens." He replied in a noncommittal sort of voice. "I'll take a vicodin."

"Well, let me try something." Wilson replied quietly, pushing the blankets down and off of both of them.

House waited; the dark and the obscure nature of such a gesture heightening his curiosity. He tensed momentarily as he felt the man's cool hands suddenly pressing against the muscle of his outer thigh. "Ooh," he hissed, shocked at the touch.

"Sorry," Wilson replied with a chuckle. "You know doctors, cold hands."

_No…_ House thought, the cold was _good._ He leaned his head back as the man's heavy fingers kneaded the damaged muscle. He'd never have guessed that Wilson would be so good with his hands. _Fantasized_, maybe, but not guessed.

He let out a soft sound as the man's fingertips slipped up and under the cuff of his shorts.

"Sorry," Wilson replied again, more quietly, drawing his fingers back down. "Did that hurt?"

House shook his head, too surprised for words. Either Wilson was playing coy, or he honestly had no idea what those gentle ministrations and explorations were doing to the older man! Either way, he thought, good thing the lights were off.

House tried again to concentrate on the distant ticking of his wristwatch, but this time, to take his mind off of an all together _different_ sort of pressure.

Tick

_Ooh…_

Tick

_Such a gentle touch…_

Tick

_That was it…_

House sat up suddenly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"House?" Wilson asked, obviously shocked by the man's sudden movement.

"Bathroom." House replied.

"Now?" The younger man blinked incredulously.

"Aren't you glad I took the outside?" With that, he grabbed for his cane, levering himself to his feet and hobbling across the room, shutting the door behind him, _and just in time_, he thought.

He leaned his weight on the edge of the sink, letting the water run over his towel for a few seconds to get cool before rubbing at his face vigorously with the wet cloth. _God,_ he thought, gazing at his flushed reflection in the mirror, _You old letch…_ But it had been years since he'd had anyone's hands on his body. Still, he realized, _anyone's_ wouldn't have had that result. He took another breath, trying to regain some composure before rifling through the medicine cabinet for a stray tab of vicodin. Once located, he glared at the pill ruefully. _Reduces sex drive, my ass!_

He swallowed the pill and washed his face once more time before retreating to the bedroom, his step a little stiffer than usual and not because of his leg, that problem, thanks to Wilson, was all taken care of.

He sighed, sliding back into the bed and pulling the covers up, _way_ up.

"Sorry it didn't help…" the other man apologized softly.

House hesitated, unsure of what to say. "Yah, well…" he replied evenly, "Thanks anyway."

_**-scene-**_

House was up at eight and thinking about dodging out the back door rather than going to meet Wilson in the kitchen for breakfast. It wasn't that he didn't like the meals, or even the new routine of sitting and talking together over some healthful concoction, but he wasn't sure if he could even _look _at the man without getting hard now, and he didn't think an hour before work was a good time to test that theory.

Sadly, or gladly, depending, the decision was quickly taken out of his hands.

"Breakfast." Wilson told him, poking his head around the doorframe. "You're… up."

"You're shocked." House pointed out.

"It's eight o' clock."

"Yes, well," the older man cast him off evasively. "I'll catch something on the way in."

"But I already made breakfast." Wilson protested.

"Well that's too bad." House replied, a bit sharply. "Because as yummy as oatmeal and burnt turkey sound this morning, I'm more in the mood for-"

"Pancakes." The younger doctor finished for him.

"Excuse me?"

"Maple Walnut, silver dollar pancakes." Wilson replied, a smile threatening House from the corner of the young man's lips. "On the end table. With a beer."

House stared at him speechless for a moment. "The money shot!" he finally replied, caving, his curiosity, once again, getting the better of his good sense.

"What happened to healthy, bland, blah blah blah?" he demanded as he hobbled into the living room.

"They _are_ healthy." Wilson argued. "The bonus is, you actually _like_ them."

"And the beer?" House raised an eyebrow, flopping into his armchair and not even waiting for the go-ahead.

Wilson shrugged. "I was feeling generous."

"Generous?" He stuffed a bite of the pancake into his mouth. "Oh _god!_" he moaned around the mouthful of fluff. "What? Is it my birthday?"

"_Last_ Sunday." Wilson replied with a done grin.

House paused. "What'd you get me?"

Wilson opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by another ejaculation of "Oh my _GOD!_ These pancakes are _fantastic_! Tell me you're having some, so I can steal off your plate."

Wilson gave a little chuckle at that. "I made enough to keep you out of mine." he replied. "There's more for you to take to work."

House stared at Wilson a moment longer, suddenly suspicious. "Why are you doing this? Is this because my _leg_ hurt last night?" he gave a scathingly pitiful look.

"Yes." Wilson rolled his eyes. "Because _pancakes_ are the answer, where therapy, vicodin, and _hypnosis_ have failed."

House gave him one more good moment of staring before turning back to the pancakes. "Maybe…" he replied, but his mind had already shifted gears. If not pity, then what?

He glanced to Wilson slyly. "I get it." He smirked. "You're sliding on your pre-New Year's resolution to tone up and get the most of that gym pass, and you wanna bring me down with you! Ha! You vile persuader with your fluffy, buttery pancakes and beer!"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "It's olive oil, not butter, the beer is low fat, and I haven't given _anything_ up."  
House paused, turning his beer around to inspect the label. _50 lower fat!_ He blinked. "Well you didn't go to the gym this morning, little Suzy homemaker," he accused, shaking a bite of pancake at the man.

"Actually, I did." Wilson replied, nonsurplused from his seat on the floor. "At six, and got home with plenty of time to make your pancakes."

House stared at him. "Got home." He repeated.

Wilson gave him a confused look. "Yah? I got home at six. Does is _surprise _you that I don't bi-locate?"

House merely smiled at the man, feeling the last puzzle piece slide into place. Got _home._

_**-scene-**_


	5. Chapter 5

House had assumed that clinic would be boring as usual, but he was beginning to doubt that assumption as he watched the unfolding scene. The pediatrician, a radiologist and a portly woman who appeared to be a social worker were fighting with a crying Latino couple over what they apparently claimed were signs of abuse on the baby girl the mother was desperately trying to get back from the rotund advocate of child welfare.

"She has three broken ribs and there are signs of possible wrist and ankle fractures." The radiologist was relaying to her over the racket.

"Her weight is low." The pediatrician added, seeming to think it was important to get that in. He was a short man, House observed. So was Napoleon.

"We love our child! We didn't mean to hurt her!" the woman was sobbing, while her husband shook his head absently, seemingly in a stupor.

"I… I must have squeezed her too hard… when we were playing…" he mumbled to himself, trying to solve the puzzle.

House watched as the caseworker clicked her pen, obviously jotting down the man's comment.

"When you say that you squeezed her-"

"Oh shut up!" House finally shouted, fed up with the whole ordeal. All eyes turned to him, including Cuddy's, which were full of fire and brimstone.

He limped over to the assembled group and stopped in front of the father giving him a long-suffering look. "You _squeezed_ her too hard?" he rolled his eyes. "That's pathetic. Ah, but what do I know?" he shrugged. "Maybe she's a real tough cookie. She'd have to be not to let on that her ribs were breaking."

"She- She's just a baby…" the dumbfounded father stammered.

"And babies cry." House told him pointedly. "If you broke her ribs, she would have cried."

"House-" Cuddy tried to interject.

"Oh, so _you're_ doctor House." The caseworker addressed him, her free hand on her jutting hip. "I was warned about you. You've got quite the reputation for protecting child abusers."

"Yah, yah," he brushed her off. "But Uncle Frank was really such a nice guy and he always gave me candy afterwards. Gimme the baby."

The woman hesitated.

"No, really." He told her. "I'm a doctor. Do you need to see my name badge? I think I left it up in my office."

"It's alright." Cuddy told the woman. "Let him get it out of his system."

The baby squealed angrily as she was passed over to the man but settled to a low, tired burbling soon after.

"Hello there," House addressed the baby, passing one finger of his free hand before her eyes, which she seemed to ignore. He tapped her cheek and a few seconds later, she recoiled slightly. "My name is Dr. House." He introduced himself. "And I'll be your attending doctor this afternoon." With that, he turned towards the elevator, baby in hand.

"Wait, what- House!" Cuddy called after him. "What is going on? You don't need to diagnose a fracture!"

"The x-rays show three fractured ribs with a possibility of wrist and ankle injury!" the radiologist restated in his nasal whine.

"And she has a low-"

"Yah, yah, yah, low weight, right?" House cut off Napoleon the pediatrician.

The man nodded, a little put out.

"Very observant of you both. What you've neglected to notice, however," he pointed out, "Is that she is also tired, irritable and generally unresponsive."

"She's a baby! It's called being cranky!" the caseworker exclaimed. "They get like that from time to time."

"So do women." House pointed out. "But we call it PMS then." He hefted the baby in his arms. "Low weight gain suggests a decrease in appetite." He glanced to the parents.

"Yes!" the mother exclaimed emphatically. "That's why we brought her in!"

House gave Cuddy his token I-told-you-so, look before continuing. "Add the irritability, malaise, unresponsiveness and brittle bones and what do we have for you Johnny?" he asked the radiologist in his best Bob Barker impersonation.

"Uh…"

"Not a new car." House hinted. "Come on, it's an easy one." He gave them one more second's pause. "She has Osteomyelitis." He declared. "A bone infection. And I'm going to need to start her on a broad spectrum antibiotic so we can test for Osteogenesis imperfecta." He turned to the mother again. "Any history of bone disorders in your family, particularly the women?"

"My… my mother has osteoporosis." She told him.

House turned back to the now humiliated doctors. "It's _so_ important to get an accurate family history." He sighed with a pained expression, handing the baby back to her mother. "Second floor, Nurse Cathy here will get you a room with a view."

With that, he turned to the remaining clinic nurse. "Dr. House checks out, 12:54, write that down."

_**-scene-**_

House was admittedly less tense with a case finally in his hands and an excuse to avoid clinic for awhile, even if most of the fun of diagnosing and humiliating was already over. There was still the question of which infection little baby Lopez-not Lopez; _as Cameron had adamantly pointed out that not all Hispanic people were named Lopez_, had contracted.

"Okay, so we've ruled out the possibility of any of you actually coming up with an idea." House huffed at the assembled group.

"Well it would be easier if we had something more to go on than a few broken bones!" Chase exclaimed, exasperated.

As if on cue, all four of their beepers started to chirp and chime in unison.

House raised an eyebrow. "Looks like you got your Christmas wish!" he grinned, then promptly began whistling "hark the herald angel sings" as he limped from the room to NICU.

Nurses were rushing uselessly around the baby on her tiny hospital bed. Her hands were grasping wildly. She wasn't breathing.

Chase pushed through the group, quickly taking charge. This was his specialty. He opened the baby's mouth, swiping at her throat with one finger. "It's her lungs." He deduced. "Her trachea's collapsed. We need to intubate, now." The process was quick, but frantic as he slid the tube delicately down the infant's fragile throat to her lungs. After a moment, the machine had her breathing normally.

House approached the bed, listening carefully. There was a rattling to her breath. "She has pneumonia…" he affirmed with interest.

Back in the diagnostics room, House was becoming more and more irritated.

"All I'm saying is that it's foolish to completely rule out abuse! The signs are still there! What is the point of curing a baby only to send her back to parents that will cause her to suffer the same or worse injuries later?"

"They won't." House said simply. "Abuse doesn't cause pneumonia."

"It does if her lungs are damaged!" Cameron argued.

"But they're _not_." House contended firmly, an aggravated edge to his voice. "The MRI revealed no lymphoma, no lesions and no damage. That. Rules. Out. Abuse." He slammed down his cane for emphasis. "Either figure out an infection that causes both brittle bones and pneumonia, or find some one else's patient to social work."

"I think-"

"No." House cut her off. "You're _not_ thinking. Go start the baby on a broad spectrum antibiotic. Chase, go with her, make sure she doesn't harass the parents. Foreman," he pointed to the man. "You go get a bone marrow sample. I want it tested."

The man nodded, standing to do so as Chase escorted a fuming Cameron out of the room.

_**-scene-**_

"So that's when I thought it was probably infected." The young man finished, pulling his pants back up.

House continued to stare, a slightly horrified look on his face. "Okay. I understand all that, but what I'm curious about is …what made you think it was a good idea to pierce it with a nail gun in the first place?"

The kid shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Yyyah…" House drew out the word thoughtfully. "So did disco and communism, but there are a lot of things that, while attractive on paper, just don't work out in practice."

"So um… can you do something about it?" the kid wanted to know.

"Mm-hm." House nodded, scribbling a few prescriptions and referrals, handing them to the kid.

"What's this?" he asked.

"The first one's an antibiotic." House told him. "The other one's a contraceptive."

The young man raised an eyebrow. "A… contraceptive?"

"It's for your mother." He told him. "The world can only handle so many… forward thinkers."

The kid opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to agree, but House would never know, as at that moment, his beeper, mercifully, went off.

"Ooh, sorry." He grinned appologetically. "I have a non-power tool related case to take care of. You understand." With that, he limped quickly from the room.

_**-scene-**_

"Who beeped me?" House demanded, entering the baby's room.

"She's gone septic!" Chase exclaimed, changing tubes and fluids quickly, trying to buy time for the little girl. "The antibiotics aren't working. They may even be making it worse."

"We need that bone marrow report." House glanced to Foreman.

The man shook his head. "Not enough time! It takes at least 48 hours to process. We don't have it!"

"Dammit." House cursed under his breath. "Then we need to diagnose her now."

"With what?" Cameron wanted to know, exasperated. "We don't have any more information than we did before!"

"Then we need to _find_ more information." He growled. "What do we already know?" he demanded.

"Uh… she's dying?" Chase shot back sarcastically.

"Wrong." House replied. "She's septic. She's septic, she has pneumonia, and a bone infection, which, by the way," he turned to Cameron, "_does_ confirm that it's an infection and _not_ abuse."

She bit her tongue, but clearly wanted to retort.

"Come on!" he demanded. "What else do we know? Start basic."

"She has a fever?" Chase volunteered.

"Good!" House exclaimed. "And?"

"Ah… I don't…" he shook his head.

House turned to Foreman, gesturing impatiently, like a teacher calling on his next student.

"She's… nauseous? She's been throwing up since around noon yesterday."

House stared at him. "No one told me this?"

"It could have been the food. She's lactose intolerant and she was given-" House made a quick gesture cutting him off.

"Where's her formula?" he demanded.

Foreman blinked.

Not waiting for an answer, House shoved open the door, storming up to her parents. "Why didn't you tell me she was on formula?" he demanded. They blinked, unable to comprehend his sudden fury.

"We… we didn't think it was important!"

"Never mind." He snapped. "Do you have any with you? A sample?"

The mother quickly fished a small canister out of her purse. House snatched it, rushing to the lab. Testing bone marrow might take 48 hours, but testing baby formula would only take a few minutes.

_**-scene-**_

****"Trimethoprim-sulfamethoxazole." House exclaimed, returning to the diagnostics room. Chase blinked at him. "Well go on!" he shooed him with his hands. "Start her on it."

"What? But we tried the-"

"You tried the _other_ anitibiotics." He replied. "Just because they didn't work, it doesn't mean she doesn't have a bacteria. Just not one they cure."

"Are you saying it could be E. Coli?" Cameron asked.

"No." he replied. "I'm saying it _is_ E. Coli. And you can treat it now, or keep questioning my competence while her liver fails."

The team jumped up quickly, going to do as House commanded.

_**-scene-**_

****"So you saved a baby's life." Wilson addressed the older doctor.

"Mm-hm." He nodded, leisurely leafing through the pages of the latest sport's illustrated, sprawled on the hard wood floor of his living room.

"And gave a family back their little girl for Christmas."

"Uh… yup. I guess so." He turned a page.

Wilson hesitated. "And that doesn't make you feel warm and fuzzy at _all_?" he asked, sounding a bit incredulous.

"Nope." House agreed. "But this does." He grinned, producing a bottle of spiced bourbon.

Wilson raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What's the occasion?" he asked.

House gave him a disbelieving look. "I saved a baby's _life_!" he exclaimed. "Gave a family back their little girl for Christmas. Jimmy, where's your sense of holiday spirit?"

The man rolled his eyes, but grinned. "Do you want a glass?"

"I want two." House replied. "I'm not drinking alone. It's Christmas eve! I don't care if you _are_ Jewish. You're having some too."

Wilson chuckled, heading for the kitchen for the requested glasses. He handed them to House, letting the man pour before accepting one back.

"A toast." House proposed, raising his glass. Wilson followed suit. "To whatever makes us feel warm and fuzzy." He said this, gazing at the man interestedly.

Wilson blinked, his cheeks coloring slightly. "A…a toast." He agreed, clinking his glass against House's before taking a long draw.

"And to you getting some less hideous ties this year." House added.

Wilson snorted, almost choking on his bourbon.

They continued to joke and tease back and forth, the bottom of the bottle growing ever nearer.

"You," House pointed drunkenly at the man, "Are a bad secret santa."

Wilson blinked. "What?"

"You didn't get Cuddy anything at all." House tisked, then grinned.

Wilson grinned, shaking his head. "And did you get _your_ present already?"

"Maybe…" House replied a bit quietly, studying the man's face. "Are you going to get _me_ a present too, Jimmy?" he asked.

He stared at the man, mesmerized by the blue of his eyes. "I don't know." He replied softly, swallowing.

"I know what you want." House told him.

"Oh?" Wilson asked a bit distracted.

"Mmhm." House nodded. "You want… someone who will love you for who you are, not for who they think they can make you into." He quoted back to the man.

Wilson blushed. He _deffinately _blushed this time. "Yah… I guess that _is_ what I said."

House leaned in a bit, reaching up and tugging a lock of the man's hair.

Wilson opened his mouth to say something, but the words got lost as House's mouth suddenly covered his own.

House pressed his lips to the younger man's, gently at first, chastely, almost innocently, until he felt the man's lips part tentatively. He took the invitation, sliding his tongue between the man's soft lips, reaching his hand back to massage the younger doctor's neck.

"Mm…" he groaned softly, kissing the man more passionately, almost fiercely, exploring Wilson's mouth hungrily.

After a moment, Wilson's hands rose gently to House's chest, pushing him away. The kiss broke and Wilson looked down embarrassedly, shaking slightly, a blush coloring his cheeks. "I, uh… don't think I'm quite drunk enough for this." He chuckled nervously.

"Oh, _I'm_ drunk enough." House grinned, tilting the man's chin up and kissing him again, soft and quick.

Wilson swallowed. "I, uh… I don't think you're drunk at all." He challenged.

House hesitated, then pulled back, meeting the man's eyes with his own, surprised at having been called out. "Jimmy… I-"

Wilson stood swiftly, cutting him off and breaking the moment. "I'm gonna… I forgot something at work. I have to…" he stammered.

House reached up, catching his shirt sleeve. "Forget about it. You've been drinking." He reminded. "You can't drive right now."

"I'll call a cab!" he snapped a bit shrilly, jerking his arm away and heading quickly for the door, pulling it shut behind him before House could even gather his wits enough to stand.

"Dammit…" he grit his teeth. That wasn't at all how he'd expected things to turn out. He ran his hands through his hair, wondering how he had so utterly misread the situation.


	6. Chapter 6

_**-scene-**_

House did not sleep well. He had awakened from fitful nightmares on several occasions, groping desperately beside him, only to have his fears confirmed as he found that the man whose presence he so ardently sought really _had _left.

As he readied himself for work, his stomach gave a low growl. Even his appetite had grown accustomed to the younger man's presence. He grimaced. No time, and he didn't want to eat anything anyway. He wanted to see Jimmy.

_**-scene-**_

The door was locked, which meant he was going to have to go around. "This sure as hell better be worth my while." He grumbled, climbing over the wall, using his cane for leverage. He slowly lowered himself before limping over to the glass door, jerking it open.

There he was.

Wilson was fast asleep on his office couch wearing the same shirt and trousers he'd been wearing the day before, using his jacket as a poor substitute for a blanket.

House poked him with his cane. "What? You miss sleeping on a couch _that_ much?" he demanded.

Wilson jerked awake, sitting up quickly. "House!" he exclaimed, as if being caught napping by the teacher. "I… um…" he blushed, looking down at his stockinged feet. "I have some things to take care of so…"

House stared at him. "Are you telling me to leave?"

"Um…" he hesitated and shrugged.

House stiffened a bit. It wasn't hostility he was getting from the man, per say, but certainly not a friendly reception. "Then _say_ it." He replied a bit snappish.

"Say… it?" the man gave him a puzzled look.

"Tell me to leave. If you don't want me here, then tell me to get out."

"House…" he sighed. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh?" he asked. "What _did_ you mean then? And what did you mean by leaving last night?"

Wilson blushed again, more deeply this time, betraying the fact that he'd been avoiding the subject. "Can we not do this right now?" he begged quietly. "I can't do this right now."

"Fine." House spun around, heading back towards the balcony. "Whatever."

"House…" he hesitated. "I'll… I'll see you at the party tomorrow, okay?"

House paused, then turned slowly. "You're… not coming home tonight?"

Wilson pursed his lips a moment. "I um… I think I should get a motel room… for now."

It was like he had been punched in the gut. House just stared at the man for a second, scrambling to collect his wits. "Okay." He replied calmly, though inside, he was anything but calm. "Fine. I'll see you." He turned quickly and left, back out and over the wall to his own office.

Once there, he sat, gripping the edge of his desk, just concentrating on breathing. In…. out… in… out. Anything else was too much at the moment. He felt sick. His leg hurt. His hunger was all but forgotten. He fished around in his pocket with a shaking hand, withdrawing his orange prescription bottle. He shook it. Five pills left. He could always get more. He popped the top, counting them out into his hand; two for the leg, one for his stomach and two to numb his mind; seemed reasonable. He popped the pills into his mouth, swallowing twice, then sighed, running his hands through his hair. How had it come to this? He wondered.

_**-scene-**_

The day crept by unbelievably slow, but it didn't really matter. House was not looking forward to going home. He fished through the stack of manila folders on his desk, trying to find _one_ worthy of his attention; anything to keep him from returning to his apartment.

"House…?" Cameron's voice interrupted him timidly. "It's eight o' clock."

He glanced up. She was standing just a few feet inside of his doorway, flanked by Foreman and Chase; all three of them looking quite tired. "Go home." He told them. "There's no reason to stay here any longer."

"…Then why are you?" Chase ventured.

House stared at him. "I've got a hot date with the nurse in pediatrics." He replied. "But she's into kinky role playing and my neighbors don't like noise. Do you think this suit makes me look like a school principal?"

Chase shook his head, turning to go. "Sorry I asked." The other two followed suit, though Cameron more reluctantly. She gave House one last wary glance before exiting the office.

Once they had left, House rested his head on the desk, sighing deeply. There was nothing. Not a single pressing file. He had no excuse to be there and he didn't feel up to inventing one. Slowly, he limped to the coat rack, snagging his jacket from the hook. He winced painfully. His leg was hurting bad, and he'd used the last of his vicodin earlier. He'd have gotten one of the kids to fill the prescription for him, but his mind had been elsewhere and it was too late. He bit his lip, huffing a little as he made his way to the elevator. Once the doors closed, he leaned heavily against the wall, shutting his eyes against the pains of the day. Wilson…

What had gone wrong? Things had been building up to such a crescendo; how had be misread the moment?

-ding-

He stepped out of the elevator, heading for the parking lot and his motorcycle. He fumbled with his cane, leaning hard on the bike as he swung his leg over the seat. It was days like this that he found it hard to deny he was crippled.

_**-scene-**_

The ride home didn't take nearly as long as he'd thought, or nearly as long as he'd hoped. He looked at the four short steps up to his apartment with dread at their seeming insurmountability. It wasn't his leg; it wasn't the presence of any pain, more the _lack_ of a presence.

The apartment was dark. Even with the lights on, it seemed dark. He felt drained by the thought of another night without Wilson, another night in the big empty bed; too big for one man; it had never seemed so lonely before. He toed off his shoes, leaving a trail of clothing to the bedroom, too tired, too upset to care enough to pick them up. It wasn't that late, but he flopped down in bed anyway. He didn't feel like watching TV or playing the piano or much of anything. Steve squeaked at him from the cage on the nightstand. House gave a shuddering sigh, sitting up. He moved over to the other side of the bed, opening the cage and dumping in a handful of pellets for the rat to munch on.

He watched numbly as Steve sorted through the pellets, looking for the choice one to nibble. After a moment, he fell back on the bed again, staring at the ceiling. How could he fix this? He couldn't; he realized. If he went to Wilson, apologized, said he'd been drunk, stressed… but he couldn't do that. Maybe things would go back to how they had been before, but that wasn't enough anymore. That hadn't been enough for a long time.

He watched as the headlights of passing cars made shadows on his ceiling and slowly, in spite of himself, he drifted off to sleep.

_**-scene-**_

It was eleven o' clock. House stared at the alarm clock in utter shock. He had _never_ overslept in his life. Though the typical response would be to hurry and get ready, he didn't. He just continued to stare, trying to make sense of something so impossible. After almost ten minutes, House finally rose, limping painfully to the bathroom to get ready. On his way out, he stopped, noticing the blinking red light on the answering machine. He felt an odd anticipation, a flutter in his chest, but he wasn't quite sure why.

He limped over to the machine, pressed the button, and waited.

"House, its nine-thirty, where are you?" Cuddy. He pushed the button again.

"House, its ten o'clock! Did something happen?" Cuddy again.

"Um… House… it's… it's…" Cameron. He pressed the button with a sigh, feeling disappointed. He turned to go.

"House…" he stopped, turning back around. "Hey, look, it's almost eleven, I… are you okay? I'm coming over."

As if on cue, the door opened. There stood Wilson, flushed and out of breath. He blinked a few times at House.

House stared back.

"You…"

"I got your message." He grinned.

Wilson sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. "Come on. The car's running."

House watched the man for a second as he turned to go, then followed after him.

The ride to the hospital was odd. House felt like he was in an episode of the twilight zone as Wilson chattered on about the morning's chaos, the entire issue between them seemingly resolved overnight. But it wasn't resolved, not in House's mind. He didn't like just being brushed off as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had changed.

But he didn't have the opportunity to pry. It was Christmas eve, and already, the hospital was swamped. For some reason, the holidays always seemed to bring out the best in people from ladder falls to oven burns. Foreman, Chase and Cameron had already been pulled for E.R.

"No." House said sternly, before Cuddy could open her mouth.

"House, you _know_ how it is around Christmas! We need you in the E.R."

"I'm not an E.R. doctor." He defended.

"And you also don't have any cases." She replied, pushing a name badge into his hands and pushing him towards the emergency room. Before he could protest, he'd been swept up in the hustle and bustle of "Christmas Joy".

_**-scene-**_

Sixty-five stitches, seventeen staples, three burn treatments, and five broken bones later, and House was punching out. He sighed deeply, feeling more dread for the office Christmas party than he had been for the morning in the E.R.

Everyone headed to the main lobby, which had been decked out in tinsel, garlands and ornaments. There was a banquet table laid out and a mini bar and somewhere, a stereo was pumping Christmas music into the room. The night shift had taken over in the E.R. and they'd get their holiday cheer in the morning, with a bonus to boot.

House hesitated outside of the door to the lobby, stealing himself for an evening of false smiles and forced small talk. Just then, he heard a step behind him. He turned around to face a slightly bedraggled looking Wilson. He'd been in the pediatric E.R. all morning, and by the looks of it, it had been a rough one.

House stared at him, unsure what to say or do.

"Hey," Wilson gave him a lopsided smile. "Let's go in." he nodded towards the room.

"…Yah." House replied after a moment, then paused. "About before…"

"Don't worry about it." Wilson cut him off. "We're… we're okay."

He could have accepted that; could have nodded, forced a smile and entered the room, but for some reason, he didn't. "No." he replied steadily. "We're not okay."

Wilson blinked up at him, his confidence faltering. "House..?" he asked, his voice confused and a little hurt.

"I said we're not okay." House replied angrily, stepping closer to the man. "You can't just act like nothing happened; like nothing's different! I kissed you!"

Wilson looked away, blushing. "House… it's… you were drunk."

"No I wasn't!"

Wilson stared at him now, surprised, fearful. "That's… it's not true." He shook his head.

House pushed him into the nearest room, not wanting to be seen. The last thing they needed was the entire office being privy to their argument.

"Dammit, Jimmy…" he bit off. "Don't you get it at all?" he shook his head, aggravated. "I have hated _all_ of your wives. Every nurse you dated, every woman you smiled at…" he punched the examination table.

"House," Wilson shook his head fearfully. "What are you saying?"

House sighed irritably. He grabbed the man's tie, pulling the younger man forcefully against his body. "Someone who will love you…" he kissed the corner of the man's lips softly, "for who you are…" he moved his mouth over to capture Wilson's, "not for who…" and kissed him again softly. "they think they can make you into." He deepened the kiss, pressing his lips against Wilson's, passionately, almost fiercely.

After a second, Wilson's lips parted, and House drew back a bit, preparing to be yelled at, scolded, anything, but instead, he was shocked as the younger man's tongue brushed against his own and Wilson's hand moved up to tangle in his thick curls.

"Mmm…" the younger man moaned and House felt his entire body shiver.

He pushed the oncologist backwards and onto the table, deepening the kiss even more as his hands roamed roughly down the younger man's body. He slid a hand under the man's shirt then paused, pulling back, quirking his brow appreciatively. "Jimmy…" he commented, lifting the man's shirt, revealing a toned six pack.

Wilson grinned sheepishly, his cheeks tinted pink and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a creased piece of paper. He handed it to House.

House stared at it confused for a second before unfolding it. He stared at the scrawl on the paper for a second before grinning widely. There, in his own handwriting, were the words "Hottie with a body" and his name. He looked up at the younger man.

Wilson chuckled nervously.

"You little…" House shook his head. "You knew all along."

"Well…" he shrugged noncommittally. "I didn't _know_ I just… hoped."

House leaned in and kissed him softly. "Let's get out of here." He murmured against the oncologists lips.

Wilson nodded, hopping down off of the examination table, preparing to follow the man. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Wait, one second." He fished an envelope out of his shirt pocket.

House stared at it confused, then opened it. Inside were two tickets to the next monster truck show in the area.

"What's this?" He asked the younger man.

Wilson pursed his lips. "In case I was wrong." He replied.

House felt a sharp pang in his chest at those words and he wrapped his arms around the younger man, drawing him in close to kiss his jaw. He didn't say anything. There was no need for words.

_**-scene-**_

The two stumbled up the steps to the apartment, hands here, lips there, barely able to remain decent long enough to get inside.

"Nn…" House grunted as he pushed the younger man against the wall of the hallway, fumbling for his key.


	7. Chapter 7

The two stumbled up the steps to the apartment, hands here, lips there, barely able to remain decent long enough to get inside.

"Nn…" House grunted as he pushed the younger man against the wall of the hallway, fumbling for his key.

"Oof!" Wilson replied as the air was knocked from his lungs, then "Mmm…" as House's lips once again covered his own.

As he jammed the key into the lock, turning it the wrong way four or five times, House found he was having more trouble controlling himself than he'd ever had before. His kisses were sloppy, like a junior high school boy having his first snog; more passion than precision, and _more_ than enough spit, but Wilson didn't seem to mind, which was good, since he couldn't seem to secure _any_ of the skill or grace that usually comes with nearly 40 years of practice in an activity.

"Mn… couch." Wilson warned as they stumbled through the door, reminding House that it wouldn't be there for them to land on.

House grunted in reply, elbowing the door shut awkwardly behind them and half pushed, half directed the younger man towards his room.

Once there, he stripped Wilson of his tie and shirt and stood back, appraising his toned body for a moment. "Merry Christmas to _me_." He grinned a bit lecherously.

Wilson blushed, embarrassed by the man's attentions. "I… I should have started sooner."

House gave him an incredulous look. "You're just fishing for compliments." He returned. Before the younger man could protest, House captured his mouth in another kiss, biting his lower lip sensually.

Wilson's eyes closed and he was kissing the man back. Suddenly, he snorted.

House pulled away, his face slightly incredulous. "You're _laughing?"_ he accused in an offended voice.

"Sorry…" he replied, a bit flustered, rubbing the side of his face. "Your stubble tickles."

The older doctor raised an eyebrow and then rubbed his beard wickedly against the side of the man's neck.

"Stop- stop it!" Wilson struggled to get away from him, but his struggles stopped and his complaints turned into impatient whimpers as House suddenly switched gears, sucking the man's collarbone, his mouth hot and wet.

"Oh…." He moaned. "Nn… G-god…"

House pushed him down onto the bed lightly, grunting a little as the effort put a strain on his bad leg.

Ever attentive, Wilson's eyes shot open in concern and he searched his long-time best friend's face. "You okay?" he panted.

"Shut up." House replied gruffly, shifting his weight to kneel on the bed.

"But-"

"Shut up." He repeated, arresting the man's mouth in another fiery kiss.

The air seemed heavy with their heartbeats and their movements were small and stiff. House found himself swallowing repeatedly as he continued to kiss the man, concentrating on mouth and teeth and tongue; forgetting bodies and hands momentarily as his own hand did no more than rub the same path up and down Wilson's thigh.

The oncologist broke the kiss for a second, pressing his face into the man's shoulder. He seemed to be hesitating, searching for words, requests too thwarting to voice.

"What?" House asked breathily, his blue-grey eyes flicking down to the brunette for an answer.

"Mnn…" was the only reply he got.

He raised an eyebrow at the feeling of the younger man's hands trembling at his neck. "D'you want me to stop?" he asked.

A headshake _no._

He smiled. "Then you want me to continue."

A pause. A nod.

He chuckled lightly as he gently pulled the man's arms from around his neck and pushed him back into the pillows.

Wilson's eyes were shut, his cheeks pink with too many emotions that make them that way.

House smiled, just appraising that newly toned body for a few moments before he moved his lips to the younger doctor's chest, kissing, sucking, licking, teasing the man's fevered skin. He moved his lips lower, his hands sliding down the man's sides in unison. When he reached the hem of the oncologist's trousers, he slid his fingers skillfully to the button of Wilson's pants.

"_I'm going Bass fishing__Out on lake Tuschwilla,__I might catch me a ten foot gator With my little green caterpillar!"_ the tinny baritone erupted from the corner of the room, startling the nephrologist so much that he lost his footing and nearly toppled off of the bed.

He snapped his attention back to his bed partner as Wilson burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "Methinks you've been bested at your own game!" he grinned.

House glowered at him for only a moment before sliding off of the bed and stalking towards the garish fish.

"_There's no telling what's biting today__Except these mad mosquitos..."_

House grabbed the fish, jerking off it's battery cover and tossing it across the room where it his the wall with the unsatisfying _–punk-_ sound of rubber on drywall and tumbled into the hamper. He stood panting a few seconds before returning to the bed, crawling back over the younger man possessively.

Wilson smiled up at him in a mixture of gratefulness and _I told you so_. "Where were we?" he asked a bit hackneyed.

House smirked, moving his lips to the man's neck once again. "A little bit after this point." He murmured. He kissed the man's neck softly for a moment, liking the way it made the oncologist squirm and the soft sounds he replied to the kisses with.

He smirked. "_Going Bass fishing…_" he began to croon softly.

"Stop." Wilson mumbled.

"Out on Lake _Tuschwilla! Might catch me a ten foot gator!!!"_ his voice increased both in decibel and incapacity and he sat back, straddling the man, pinning him as a helpless audience.

"Stop!!" he demanded, trying to wriggle away.

"_No telliiiiiiiiiing what's biting to-day! 'Cept these MAD mos-kwee-toes!"_

**_-scene-_**

James Wilson slept peacefully through Christmas morning. Ten o'clock clicked onto the digital alarm and glowed quietly, keeping the shorthand of the man's newly discovered life.

Sun was streaming through the slatted blinds and crisscrossing the blankets; still touseled from the night's endeavor.

He sighed, deeply content and slowly began to blink sleep from his mind. He stretched out and stopped, slowly realizing that he was not in his own single bed. He was not in his own dim apartment. Sound from the television in the other room slipped under the crack and into the bedroom. _Someone_ was watching the parade. He yawned, sitting up in bed and stopped, swallowing thickly.

There, at the foot of the bed, sat eight little packages. There was a note propped against them in a slap-dash sort of doctor's scrawl.

_"In case I was wrong."_

-THE END-

A/N: Oh my god!!!! It's the first fic I've ever finished!!!!! Sorry it took me so long. I meant to finish it my Christmas and here it is almost the fourth of July!!


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